


In Which Courfeyrac Resolves Henceforth To Keep His Clothes To Himself

by magnificentbastards



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Friendship, Gen, M/M, fashion triumphs and fashion disasters, pontmercying to the highest degree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbastards/pseuds/magnificentbastards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Why, yes,” Courfeyrac says, frowning a little at an unintended crease in the fabric of his necktie and setting it aside in favour of a fresh one, “you know, curling my hair in the mornings means it takes me nearly an extra hour to get ready! Fashion is a cruel and beautiful mistress, and I bear her boot-marks all down my spine.”</p><p>Through the doorway, Marius coughs (Courfeyrac would certainly not be so uncharitable as to refer to it as a <i>splutter</i>).'</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Courfeyrac Resolves Henceforth To Keep His Clothes To Himself

**Author's Note:**

> drabble, written for Barricade Day June 5th-6th 2013 promptfest on my [tumblr](http://marthur.tumblr.com)
> 
> also: I recorded this, you can listen to the podfic [here](http://vocaroo.com/i/s0doZXk2viQS)

“Fashion is all curls this year,” Courfeyrac calls through the door that separates his bedroom from the parlour where Marius has made his camp, doing up the buttons on his gold-and-green satin waistcoat. “Hair, hat-brims, lapels — I’d have you watch my back, that it does not bend in half, were it not that my stays keep it quite straight.”

He amuses himself, as he picks a starched white cravat off the back of the chair by his desk, imagining the colour Marius’ face has gone at the mention of undergarments of any kind. After a moment of silence from the next room, during which Courfeyrac begins tying his cravat in the mirror set above his fireplace, Marius appears to remember that conversations generally involve replying to the person with whom one converses, and says, “Oh?”

“Why, yes,” Courfeyrac says, frowning a little at an unintended crease in the fabric of his necktie and setting it aside in favour of a fresh one, “you know, curling my hair in the mornings means it takes me nearly an extra hour to get ready! Fashion is a cruel and beautiful mistress, and I bear her boot-marks all down my spine.”

Through the doorway, Marius coughs (Courfeyrac would certainly not be so uncharitable as to refer to it as a  _splutter_ ). This time Courfeyrac gets the knot of his cravat right, fabric piled to his jawline and spread to tuck into the front of his waistcoat; his coat and hat are hung on the stand by the door, so he gives himself a final look-over in the mirror, pronounces himself dressed to  _perfection_ , and crosses into the next room.

Marius is standing facing Courfeyrac’s desk, sorting through a pile of documents, his threadbare and entirely straight-brimmed hat placed on the chair next to him. When he hears Courfeyrac enter the room he turns around, and at once it is  _Courfeyrac’s_ turn to splutter — he says, “Good lord, man, what on earth are you wearing?”

“I am wearing your coat,” says Marius, bemused.

“That is  _not_ my coat,” Courfeyrac replies indignantly, “or rather it is  _no longer_ my coat — what have you done to it, it fits you like a sack! It was cut perfectly!”

“I had it altered,” says Marius, pulling at the already-misshapen lapels of the coat and avoiding Courfeyrac’s eyes, “it was too tight.”

“It was cut perfectly!” Courfeyrac repeats, affronted, “I had you try it on! And in any case, it is _supposed_  to be tight! Tell me you did not have  _panels_ put in — look at this, it is all bunched at the sides, there is a most unsightly fold in the tails; how cheap was the tailor you went to, I can _see_  his stitching in these hems, he has used an off-colour thread — Marius, your trousers do not even fit you, your cravat is tied incorrectly, your waistcoat has no lining, this is a  _travesty._ ”

At some point during his tirade, Courfeyrac has graduated from simply stepping closer to Marius and peering at him (as one would peer at a collision of hansom cabs in the street) to actually grabbing his clothes, turning him back and forth, pulling at seams and rubbing fabric between his fingers as the mask of abject horror on his face grows ever more desperate.

Marius, who looks rather startled and whose freckles have gone blush-pink, says, “I thank you for the coat and for the — advice, Courfeyrac, but you must know fashion simply does not hold the import, or indeed the appeal, for me that it does for you.”

Courfeyrac, having taken a drink from the glass of water on his desk and thus calmed himself down somewhat, thinks for a moment, and then says, “This is not a question of fashion, this is merely basic self-presentation. You are a mess, and you must be cleaned up; I will take you to my tailor.”

“I don’t think —”

“No, I insist! But you cannot go out like that, women will laugh at you in the street, you will garner a very poor reputation and perhaps become a folk tale that parents tell to chastise their children —  _if you do not go to bed now, Monsieur Poorly-Dressed Pontmercy will come in and gobble you up!_ ”

“You are overstating, Courfeyrac.”

“I am not. Take your clothes off.”

“I — I beg your pardon —!” Marius chokes, clutching at the sides of his coat with both hands as though Courfeyrac is going to tear it off him.

“So that I can outfit you in something less damaging to the eyesight of innocent Parisians, of course,” says Courfeyrac, and after a moment (he is quite sure that the addition will lose him Marius’ co-operation entirely, but he cannot help himself; and besides, the look on Marius’ face will probably be worth it), “and also because I am rather curious to see if your visage is not the _only_  place you are freckled; Jolllly and I have a wager on, you see.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Courfeyrac wins the bet. what that means is up to you.)


End file.
